Queens
by Paint Me Violent
Summary: There are two sides to every story – right and false. Like there are always two Queens – white and black.
1. Prologue: Queens

**Title:** Queens

**Summary:** There are two sides to every story – right and false. Like there are always two Queens – white and black.

**Timeline:**Timeline has to be changed. Susan was born in 1941 and Lucy was born in 1945. But they still go to Narnia and everything that happens in the book happens.

**Note: **Made for the prompt _'372. __CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: Charles/+ Lucy Pevensie + Susan Pevensie - "The Pevensies are mutants, as it turns out."__'_ at . .

**Prologue: **_**Queens**_**.**

_The White Queen._

Lucy Pevensie is a lovely girl. She is kind to those she meets and she has hope in her big sky blue eyes that shine brighter than gold on the sun.

Her life is simple. She has a mother and a father who she loves immensely. And then there are her two big brothers who are always there for her. And Aslan who waits for her in Narnia.

Oh, Narnia… her beautiful country. How much she misses running through green fields on sunny days with her siblings. How much she misses the gentle whispers of the dryads who were singing lullabies to her. But most of all she misses the golden light of the mane that smells of sunrise. She wants to go back to her ruby-golden chambers, to feasts and balls and see Mr. Tumnus and Beavers and Caspian...

And that world means _everything_ to her. Because she is not Lucy Pevensie, but Lucy the Valiant, Queen of Narnia.

_The Black Queen._

Susan Pevensie is a lonely girl. _You're beautiful_, she had been told. But every time she looks in the mirror, she can only see a girl with cracked up skin and hollow eyes. She forgot how to be beautiful.

Her life is easy. She is exquisite and smart and everyone adores her. She is a woman in America – free from oppression of men. A model – a popular model for Vogue. And her future has never looked brighter.

Oh, future… If she had ever imagined it before, she would have never ever cried just only to silence hundreds of voices – 'Witch! Witch! Witch!' – she will never forget. She will never forget it like she forgot Narnia - there is no reason to remember, because it hurts. Because it is so unattainable. She is strong enough to smile and laugh and live in the world she is given, because any other world is a dream, a trick her subconscious mind is playing on her.

And that world means _nothing _to her. Because she's not Susan the Gentle, Queen of Narnia anymore. She is Susan. Susan Pevensie.

_The White Queen._

And one day her wish is granted. And she is rushing towards the London railway station to get on the train that will take her to _her _country, to _her _world, where she belongs.

And as she sees the faces of Jill and Eustace coming closer and closer, she doesn't feel the train going faster and faster when it should just stop. What she does notice is the horror on her siblings' faces and fire outside of the window.

And the world goes _black_.

The Black Queen.

She sits in her living room, going through the mail she has gotten this week. And she doesn't notice the paper at first, but then it stands out for one reason only – London, England. She picks it up, surprised, because the last time she remembers spending her time with the family, she has been disowned. And so she reads it. And reads again. Again. And again. The only words she gets are that they are all dead. Dead.

She doesn't cry. What good it will do? Her family will come magically to life? No. And besides, she is not sure she knows how to cry anymore.

And if Susan Pevensie feels a lump in her throat and stinging in her eyes, she will tell it's her imagination playing tricks on her. And suddenly her apartment is so _white_.

_The White Queen._

She wakes up in a white room. Hospital, she concludes. But wait… why is she here?

And then it downs upon her. She is not in Narnia. She is alive. In England. In London.

And she screams.

_The Black Queen._

When she gets to the airport, her self-pity has vanished completely. There is a piece of paper in her pocket that tells her that Lucy Pevensie is alive and needs a guardian until she turns twenty one. She needs someone to take care of her. Care is responsibility. And responsibility weights so much on her thin, fragile shoulders. It is almost if she is Atlas who has been punished by Gods to support the heavens. But she will not break under the pressure. She will shape her new life to suit her old life. She is strong enough to stand through every storm life throws at her. She is not a Doll (like many believe) and she is not a Queen (she lost her crown a long time ago) and she doesn't live in a dream. No, she makes her dreams reality.

_The White Queen._

Everything in her is arching. Her heart and soul. For the country and her whole family who are all dead. And what has she done to deserve to be left out? What sin has she committed to be in England? Is it even possible that she doesn't deserve the return? Aslan didn't want to give her salvation. And she is damned to walk the Earth until the end of her times. And Lucy cries and screams and throws cushions and tears the covers. She is hysterical and unstable.

And she is young. Too young to take care of herself. And they ask her who her next in kin is. And she utters the name she didn't say in so long.

Susan. Susan Pevensie.

_The Black Queen._

When she enters the hospital, she stands out of the crowds. All around her people are wearing black or grey while she has a gorgeous orange suit. She truly forgot how dull London is. While New York is loud and bright, Paris is romantic and colorful, London is grey and boring.

When she asks the nurse for Lucy Pevensie's room, she is not sure what she will say to Lucy. And what is more important how she will manage to take Lucy to New York, because even for all shoes in the world, she won't stay in this… place.

The nurse is bubbling how fast her sister had recovered, how fast she healed. And that she can _go home_.

Susan doesn't tell the nurse that Lucy thinks that her home is an imaginary land with mythical creatures and talking animals and where Lucy is a queen.

_The White Queen._

When she wakes up, it is sunny and bright and warm. She hasn't felt warm in so long. It's almost laughable, really, because it is July - the warmest month in London.

She misses her family, but she knows they are in the better place, while she is left to rot here.

And then there is a familiar shape in the doorway. It is bright and stunning and _royal_ in a way she carries herself. It is Susan.

And her eyes… they are _dead_.

_The Black Queen._

Susan looks at Lucy – she is transparent, lying on white sheets. Her skin is a ghastly color of grey, her hair is dump and dirty. She looks like a ghost. Like a very dead ghost.

But her eyes… they are so _alive_.

_The White Queen._

She watches Susan as she arranges the funeral – coffins, flowers, guests. She doesn't bat an eyelash. Everything she does is with cold eyes and polite smile on her face. And Lucy hates her.

Lucy cries when her family is being lowered into the ground. She can't help it, because she won't see them again, she won't exchange stories with them. There will be no wise smiles from Edmund, no hugs from Peter. No Mother and no Father, no friends and no family.

She is completely alone, even if her sister is standing just one step away from her. But she can't see Susan as her sister, there is nothing of gentleness and warmth in her. Looking at the woman in front of her, she sees only icy eyes and cold façade. Susan had changed, into a nightmare Lucy will never forget.

_The Black Queen._

As she watches the bodies being lowered into the ground, she can't move, she can't think. All she can do is stare at the coffins and then throw flowers into the graves.

But inside her there is a battle raging – she wants to abandon the cemetery and run without stopping for as long as she can, until there is no strength left in her. She wants to wail and scream, and most of all she wants to cry, but something stops her. Is it the cold creeping inside her like a snake or is it hate for something that has tore away her siblings and left Lucy and her stand in the ruins of the Pevensie family? But she won't bend to her own whims; she won't allow herself to break in front of all these people. She will cry and scream later, when she is sure she can handle herself without falling into depression.

'_It's going to end soon and then I can return home, to New York,_' the thought is running round and round in her mind like a mantra.

She looks at the men and women, all trying so hard to grieve. She despises them. They are liars and heartless basstards who thrive of other's pain and sorrow. She hates them more then she hates Aslan.

All of those men and women were all over Lucy, trying to calm her down, to support her. They act as if she's not even there. No one notices her. No one cares about her. And she won't cause them pleasure by weeping alone like a discarded broken doll. When she gets to her apartment, she will cry and wheep and plead for it to be a bad dream. _Later_, she tells herself. _Later_.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, clenched her jaw and raised her chin.

She will not fall.

_The White Queen._

She is lying on her bed, shedding tears silently. She is not sure she can move on just now. She doesn't know when she will be ready to move on.

Her sister is insisting on moving to New York, to a whole new world in which Lucy is a foreigner. And she doesn't want to live England, in a strange sense it is home, but… not like Narnia. Nothing can compare to Narnia.

In the morning she sees Susan packing her suitcases, she is like a machine – takes clothes, puts them in a suitcase and then takes another pile of clothes.

"I won't go anywhere, Susan. I'm staying in England," Lucy looks her sister straight in the eyes. It is not easy as absolutely nothing reflects in them, but she has to, to show she doesn't need help, that she is independent. She doesn't need her not-sister.

"What are you trying to achieve with these words? You're going to America with me. And that's final, Lucy," Susan closes the suitcase and zips it. "I've packed you some clothes, but we will have to buy a whole new wardrobe. The one here looks…"

"Don't you hear me, Susan! I'm not going anywhere! I'm staying here! I'm staying!" screams Lucy through tears, storming into the room and throwing the suitcase on the floor.

"Enough, Lucy." Susan's tone is low and her eyes are hard. "You're going with me. Pack what you need and come downstairs in two hours. I'm going to your school to get your file. And then we're going to the airport."

Susan looks at Lucy and then exits the room without another word.

For the first Lucy is afraid of the future.


	2. Chapter One: New York

**Chapter One: **_**New York**_

New York greets Lucy with bright neon lights and laugher, coming from everywhere – airports, cafes and streets. It sickens her. How can they be so carefree? So… different? In London these days you could rarely see someone smiling in the street, for their minds were busy with the thoughts of how can they manage it through the day and the next ten years. However, these people, it seems, had no care for the future. Party-goers, most of them. Much the same as her sister. Susan the Statue. Susan the Machine. Susan the Ice Queen.

The words send shivers down her spine. She still hasn't forgotten the woman, no, no, _creature_ made from ice and stone. She doubts she ever would.

The cab stops in front of a house, and Susan motions for her to get out. Well, at least her sister has made a lot of money, it seems. It is a four-storey house, and it has a lift, there is a whole storey for Lucy. Susan gives her a set of keys and a map of the city. For the first week Susan drops her off at school, picks her up and shows her the nearby stores. For the second week she gets _'there is a photoshoot I can't refuse. It is only for a few days. Mrs. Millie will be checking on you, dearest!'_ and a kiss on a cheek, and Susan leaves for Chicago.

That week Lucy explores the place. It is truly a magnificent house. _Ouch_. It still _hurts_. It still causes her pain. Not the one she is so used to – hot and searing and that tears her heart to shreds. No. This pain is mild and dull. _Grey._

On one of her explorations she opens a door to a library. And it is so charming in its simplicity that Lucy decides she does not want to explore anymore. She found what she has been looking for. The closer inspection shows her that the only shelves that are not dusty contain magazines and several books she has never heard of. And so library becomes her refuge.

Susan returns with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, because – _'Lucy, you will never believe! I met Jim Lueve, and he asked me to pose for him! I'm leaving for Los Angeles tomorrow'_. And it seems so final that Lucy wants to tear her sister's hair out and make her show some emotion except this made-up happiness. She wants to plead with this strange woman – _please, please, give me my Su back_. But she knows better, this woman _is_ Susan, but _never_ her sister. Her worst wraiths live not only in her imagination now, but in her reality, too.

What Lucy does not know is that the same night Susan fills her bath and sits there until it grows cold, crying silent tears and drinking champagne from the bottle. And Susan, Susan who never sheds tears, Susan who is logical and mature to the core, Susan who always knows the reason, sits in the freezing water, biting her lips to stop more unwelcomed tears, and wonders _what exactly she is doing_.

When she gets out of the bath and looks in the mirror, she sees a girl. A girl filled with uncertainties and chimeras. Right now she is nobody she knows.

What _Susan _does not see, is that she is still smiling in the mirror, long after she falls asleep.

The school is tolerable. Here, in America, imagination is welcomed. She does not have to act by strict rules of England. She can show the world her paintings and not be scorned for them. She can tell a story about two Kings and two Queens and a magical land called Narnia, and she would be praised for her vivid imagination. Here… here she was free.

But Lucy knows that the cost of freedom is always high.

It is the day when Susan returns and does not gash about her next photoshoot. (Lucy is revealed.)

Her sister has a far off look and she is twisting her fingers, biting her lip, digs nails into her bare knees that are drown to her chest. Something is definitely wrong.

"What is bothering you, Susan?" Lucy is nothing if not curious. She desperately wants to know what set Susan on edge. She does not care all that much about the bitter girl. It is only good manners speaking here.

She follows her sister's gaze and looks out of the window. The view is melancholic, disheartening – heavy ashen clouds, iron sky.

"I don't remember you being afraid of storms," notes Lucy with suspicious, hesitant eyes. Maybe it is not her sister after all, maybe her sister, her Susan, is happily living in the magical land called Narnia and does not remember anything about this world. Or maybe… maybe she is just a dreamer.

"I'm not a child to be afraid of thunder," her voice is cutting, composed, so… regal. The distant echo of the Queen's, nevertheless it does not hold the same gentleness it once did, the same trust and kindness, instead it is twisted and acrimonious and made to tell the story of the great fall. Lucy shudders. It is not helping that nowadays she finds more and more resemblances between her and _Her_. It is maddening. And Lucy hates. Hates her sister for becoming something she once fought. Hates herself for allowing that to happen, standing by and letting Susan dance away, not fighting harder for her sister, not trying hard enough to bring her back. And then… and then…

"There is something brewing in the dark. I can't see them," she whispers lost and broken and so out-of-character. "I'm afraid of what is to come. I'm searching for something good – hope, love, anything – but there is none, only sorrow and fear…"

And for a second she sees a girl she once loved and looked up to, Lucy sees a girl with ultramarine eyes – clear and hopeful, full of fear and despair, and then…

"There is a storm coming, dearest. You better go to bed."

…the vision is lost. And any humanity the elder Pevensie girl held before is stripped away by the mist in her eyes.

It is Saturday and Susan left the apartment for an early photoshoot, saying something about sunlight, bridges and water.

Lucy is alone. She sits in the kitchen, watching the passerby: there is an elderly couple – all snowy-white and holding hands. There are a young girl and a boy, probably giggling about some silly joke and looking so in love. There is a group of boys, running from a policeman and roaring with laughter. Two old men in tweed jackets are playing chess. Two little girls in red dresses hand in hand are skipping down the street. A lazy fat ginger cat has one eye opened, looking out for an angry dog, while the other one is closed in slumber. A brunette man is saying something to his companion in a leather jacket. Then there is a young woman in a pink suit, scolding a child.

_Ding Dong! _Argh.

Lucy yanks the door open and comes face-to-face with two men from earlier. They are both very handsome – there is a certain edge to a taller one, and the brunette man is more… safe-looking.

"Good afternoon, I'm Charles Xavier," the voice is gentle and painfully familiar. As if she heard it before. It may be from a fantasy that she had once lived when she was a child, or it may be even deeper than that. She is not sure.

"Erik Lehnsherr." This voice, however, tells her a different story. It is sharp, but still… still it is the kind of voice you want to hear when you make up from a horrible dream.

"We're looking for Lucy and Susan Pevensie," says Charles Xavier. She enjoys the sound of the name. _Charles_. A free man. _Xavier_. A new house. Does not make any sense, but she likes it anyway.

Stop. Lucy and Susan? No one has ever before called her name first. It is always Susan to be first. Always.

"I'm Lucy. Susan is not here."

She invites them in and offers tea. Though Charles Xavier starts telling her about genetics, evolution and mutation… He uses a lot of words she has no knowledge of, but she adores how enthusiastic he sounds, how engrossed in his own little world. She listens with upmost attention to him, looks with huge eyes at the way his eyes twinkle every time he says mutation or evolution.

And then Erik Lehnsherr cuts in. _Erik._ Always Ruler. _Lehnsherr._ Lord. It sounds too overloaded. She is going to call him Lehnsherr. Yes, it suits the man.

"What my friend here is trying to say is that you're a mutant."

There is a scowl on Charles Xavier's face aimed at Lehnsherr. But Lucy is too far away.

_Mutant… special, different. Unique. One of a kind._

"I didn't realize anyone knows," whispers Lucy looking overjoyedhorrifiedconfused. "I certainly didn't count on anyone coming to my house and telling me this flat out. I'm overwhelmed. I just don't know how… what… You're mutants, aren't you?"

The hope in her eyes, the desperation, it all makes Charles Xavier smile and:

'_Do you hear me, Miss Pevensie?'_

"You're a telepath!"

The pure astonishment, the excitement she barely contains – it is staggering and intoxicating. So far, she is the only one who reacted so openly, so childlike.

She takes out a pin from her bun and pierces her finger. As they watch, the cut heals itself in a matter of seconds.

"Regeneration!" exclaims Charles Xavier. "Is it powerful? Can you heal others? Can you…"

"I don't know, Mr. Xavier. I'm sorry…"

"Please, Ms. Pevensie," it is Lehnsherr who speaks now, his voice is soothing and awaking, "never say sorry for something you don't hold any power or responsibility over."

The encouragement in his voice is enough for her to look up and tell the two men everything she knows about her power.

The door slams open some forty five minutes later. It is Susan. She is irritated and most of all tired. It shows in the way she slams the door – Susan she came to know always closes the door gently, in the way her feet shuffle on the floor – the heels are gone and her feet are bare.

"It is my sister. I'll go get her."

When she runs in the halls, she sees Susan – her hair is tousled and her make-up is gone, she has a thin pale cream coat on and she is, indeed, barefoot, her heals are lying abandoned in the corner.

"I'm tired, Lucy. I'm going to bed."

"What happened?" Lucy is concerned. Susan is not one to be weighted down by hardships – not in this manner.

"Look, Lucy, I don't want to talk about it, alright? There is take-out in the bag. Pack your bags; we're flying out to Madrid tomorrow morning."

"Why?" Lucy is bewildered. Her sister never takes her on any of her business trips to other cities, not that she wants to. It would have been no fun, Susan is always working, there would have been no time to go sightseeing and to visit museums.

Susan gave her a look and turned around to leave, when Lucy remembered about the mutants in the living room.

"Susan, there are two men in the living room. They wish to speak to you"

"Have you got yourself in trouble, Lucy Pevensie?" hissed Susan.

"No, no! They are Professors. They are amazing!"

Susan gave her a suspicious look, but nodded.

"If only it doesn't take long."

Susan observes them first – for her strangers were always the thing to observe first, and only then, after making sure that they are no threat, she will talk. Some lessons are better learned once.

"Miss Pevensie, I'm Charles Xavier and this is my colleague Erik Lehnsherr. And we're here…"

She stops listening, instead her mind wonders to the photoshoot in Madrid – exotic, they said. Why couldn't they do it somewhere in states or at least a little bit closer, Cuba, perhaps? There are lovely landscapes and the water is crystal blue.

"Miss Pevensie, your upcoming photoshoot in Madrid is, of course, wonderful and Cuban beaches are truly stunning. However, I doubt it can be as intriguing as knowing that you're a mutant and a rather strong one."

They know.

…everything freezes.

**Extraordinary**, the past whispers seductively in her mind, **one of a kind.**

…_no. _

_freak. disgusting mistake. _

_Witchwitchwitch! You, weak foolish freak! _

_**They're not friends. Enemies. Enemies! Arch enemies. They will discover your little secret and wipe you from the face of the earth. **_

_They will find out. _

_**Kill them. Kill them. Kill them!**_

**They will take you away. To an asylum.**

_And Lucy…_

_Lucy!_ _**Kill them all…**__**as you once did.**_

_I did not. I did not. It was a dream, just a dream. Yes, yes! I'm dreaming. It's a dream. I have to wake up!_

**You can't wake up, little bird. It's not a dream.**

_Have to protect her._

_**Get the knife. The knife! Stab them. Stab them! Destroy them as only you can.**_** Come on, little girl, come on.**

_**Protect yours. Do it. Do it! DO IT!**_

Something inside her snaps – it crawls out of the hole it has been caged in, it snaps its teeth and fills her with the intent to demolish everything in her way.

She does not notice the change, too deep into her own mind, but others certainly do.

It is Charles that jumps up first, stares widely into the street through a window. It is getting dark – too fast, too unnatural. He can only stare as the light is being eaten alive by the dark clouds and hurricanes. Then tornados come – twisting and dancing and causing panic and screams. Fear fills the streets; minds reach out to him and shout in agony. And Charles, unable to block them in time, falls on the floor with a scream no one will hear – there is no air in his lungs, _I need to breath, I need to breath!_

Lucy bolts towards Charles Xavier. He is clutching his head and has his mouth open – but there is no sound.

Lucy puts his head on her knees and tries to reach out to him with her power, to stop the pain he is obviously in. That doesn't help one bit. He is still clutching onto his head and there is the pain of hundredth in his eyes. It is Lehnsherr who comes to aid. His fingers are on Charles's temples in an instance and his own eyes are closed. And Charles goes limp.

_NO!_

_**But you have to. You want to. Do it. **_

_Please, no! Please!_

_Witch! Witch! Demon! Devil's spawn! Demon! Demon!_

_I'm not, please. I'm not!_

_You are! You are! A disgrace. We hate you! Witch! You will burn in hell!_

_No…_

_Get the torch! Burn the witch!_

_**demon. witch! witch! witch! we hate you.**__ no! no! stop it! stop it! _**Yes. sweet girl. Yes.**_ alone. all alone. __**you're a demon. devil's spawn. burn in hell! witchwitchwitchwitchwitch!**__ no, please. stop! I hate you all. hate you All. hate you! hate you!_

A fleeting second. A soft presence. They're trying to break her. Never again.

Charles opens his eyes to see the face of the young Lucy Pevensie, the girl with the most wonderful gift of healing. And then the pain. He remembers the pain – so much.

Realization hits him like a ton of bricks. It's her. The raven-haired girl, the elder Pevensie has done that, and he looks up at her. She is still in her armchair, griping the wooden arm rests with such force that for a second Charles wonders why they haven't broken yet. Her eyes are closed and her eyebrows are drawn together – the very image of concentration. Though her mind is blank – there is absolutely nothing, only miles of darkness to wonder through.

Her eyes snap open, and Charles is pushed back against the wall with a force that shakes the house. Lehnsherr is barely fast enough to put up a shield to protect himself from the wrath of the girl.

"You will not enter my mind."

"You have to let go! You need help!" he cries out, frantically trying to reach her, to ease her hold on the reality – he can still hear the screams, the howling of wind, rooftops being torn away.

"Nothing's wrong with me," she greets her teeth and clenches her hand into a fist.

Lucy sees the spectacle between Charles Xavier, Lehnsherr and Susan and knows that she has to break through to her sister, to make her see reason; she knows, but doesn't do anything. Too afraid to get blasted into a wall. Coward. Peter, Peter would have never hesitated to do what has to be done. And Edmund…

Lucy grabs Susan's hand and cries out as the skin gets burnt. She looks down, the flash is torn away, and there is blood, so much red. It is healed seconds later, but the pain is there, it doesn't leave with the scar.

Susan turns around to stare at her, and Lucy sees not the Susan she came to know in recent weeks, but… she sees a monster, an abnormality, a devil – insanity slipping through maroon eyes and pouring from viciously twisted lips.

Golden light overwhelms Susan. It's not blinding, no, it soothes her in a strange way. Like a mother. It caresses her cheek, runs its fingers through her hair and brings her peace. She blinks.

She stares at Lucy, who looks lost and vulnerable. Susan wants to reach out, hug her sister and tell her that everything will be alright. She makes a step, but Lucy flinches back.

And Susan notices things – the way Lucy is cradling her hand, how tense is Erik Lehnsherr and that Charles Xavier is sitting against the wall, rubbing his chest and trying to stand up with no avail. Susan sees and understands.

She marches towards Xavier and helps him up on his feet. She takes a look at Lucy's hand and turns to Charles.

Twenty three minutes later the small group of four is heading towards the nearest train station.


	3. Chapter Two: Langley

**Chapter Two: **_**Langley**_

There are stares and whispers when they get out of the car. Susan suspects that these people know their true identity and hates them for it. However, she does not let it bother her. There are other, greater problems to face right now. Not to get her hair wet, for instance.

Inside the building they are already being awaited by a plump man with thick glasses.

"Mr. Platt," Xavier grins at the man and turns to the two sisters. "Let me introduce you another two mutants. These are Lucy and Susan Pevensie."

"Good evening," smiles Susan, taking up her usual mask of polite coolness.

"It's an honor to meet you. I've always known that mutants exist. And you two and the others here are…"

"Others?" Lucy's eyes lit up with the sense of adventures that are to come. There are others here, in this very building! More people like her.

Mr. Platt offers the sisters a tour of the facility and Lucy is immediately swept by the idea of exploring a real CIA base of operation. Susan, on the other hand, wants to know what the hell is going on and why they were taken to a CIA facility for training. Susan is no idiot; she suspects some foul play here. As they say, only mousetraps have free cheese. Maybe she will be able to charm answers out of Platt, he does not look like a tough nut to crack.

Lucy sees them through a window first. She sees and somehow recognizes them. Mutants.

The first one she notices is a tall ginger boy with freckles and pale blue eyes that remind her of a sky on a summer day. By the looks he is the youngest of the group. Besides him she sees another boy, who reminds her of Peter. However, this boy has short hair sticking in every direction possible and much more muscular structure. Then she notices the tallest of the group. He has glasses and an air of shyness around him that makes her smile. When she notices his blue eyes, she wonders if it is a part of mutation possessed by people like her. But she is proved wrong the second her eyes land on the other person behind the glass. It is a pretty girl dressed in leather. Her hair is raven black and her eyes are warm brown. Just like those of a young man beside her. His blue shirt is a sharp contrast to the chocolate color of his skin, but Lucy knows that he is a wonderful man with an interesting story to tell. How does she know that? Lucy is not sure herself. And finally, there is another one – a blonde girl with a smile that does not come down even for one second. And Lucy does not believe her.

Susan vanishes somewhere and does not return by the time Platt introduces Lucy to everyone. She is immediately bombarded by standard questions (for mutants, that is) like where she is from, what her mutation is.

When Platt leaves them alone, Raven tugs her to the sofas and they are inventing their cool code names. She gets to witness things even she would have deemed impossible. And she totally forgets about everything else in the world.

Then Alex sends his red energy something flying in all directions, and there is a familiar scream of surprise. As it turns out, one of the disks nearly beheaded Susan.

Susan, who is glaring at them so hard that Lucy can practically see herself turning into an insect under that gaze.

Alex tries to apologize, but Susan, it seems, is out for blood and hisses at him just to shut the hell up and go somewhere where she won't be able to kill him. Lucy doubts that such place exists.

Raven is out of stupor first and jumps up to Susan with shining eyes:

"What is your mutation?"

Susan shrugs her shoulders elegantly and prefers the question to stay unanswered.

"Where were you?" Lucy looks at her sister with mild suspicion. Susan only gives her a dismissive wave of hand and turns her attention to the spectators.

"I'm Susan Pevensie. And you're Raven, Angela, Henry, Alexander, Darwin and Sean. Did I get everyone's names right?" she gives them a disarming smile and immediately charms the lot.

"I prefer Hank," the boy with glasses says, and Susan nods. Hank, Hank, Hank, she has to remember.

"And I go by Angel," the brown-haired girl pips in. Susan, of course, smiles and doesn't comment that the girl looks nothing like an angel.

"And I'm Alex." It seems she has to remember everyone's preferences if she wants them to mind their own business.

Lucy is angry. She was having _fun_. And then Susan appeared out of nowhere and everything went to Hell.

However, Susan does not try to make friends, no, she retreats to the farthest corner with a book. Some cheesy poems, no doubt. And she stays there. Thank God.

When Magneto and Professor X alongside Agent McTaggert leave the base, and they are relocated to a new room, everything somehow calms down and they play games and just longue around.

It turns to disaster pretty soon. There are people being dropped from the sky, there is shooting and everything shatters and explodes, and children panic.

"Your backs to the wall! Now!" orders Susan, shielding Lucy with her own body clad in a tight black dress that doesn't fit the situation one bit. For a second Susan thinks of herself as a tigress, protecting her cubs, and grins wickedly. No one would hurt Lucy. Never.

There are two mutants in the room – one is an ordinary-looking man who wields wind and the other is a devil out of her worst nightmares. She looks at them, waits for them to make the first move, but they wait for something, too. What, they find out very soon.

"Ah, no telepath. That's bad. At least I get to take this thing off," he takes his hideous helmet off, and looks at them as if he is Father Christmas, who came to give them presents and not a man who killed so many innocents. Susan pursues her lips and studies the man closer. He is neatly dressed, he is not handsome, but his eyes are blue and he has aristocratic features, which make him quite good-looking.

"Good evening," he addressed them. "I'm Sebastian Shaw. I won't hurt you."

He is coming closer to them, and Susan practically recoils back. There is a power in him with which she does not want to come face to face. However, the young woman straightens up when she reminds herself that all humans are dead, that there is no one to protect them except themselves.

The man is sprouting lies left and right, talks about times when humans would find out about them, how they would have to rebel against being slaves. All this Susan knows and understands. And she would have taken the man's hand without any regrets if only there wasn't one little _deadly_ detail, about which the sly man doesn't tell them anything.

She sees a vision of sorts filled with agony and darkness beyond comprehension. She hears the screams filled with pain and cries calling out for _President_ Shaw.

And when Angela takes the man's hand, one part of Susan wants to let the girl go, because she understands the inner turmoil Angela experiences, but the other part wants to grab the girl's hand and to shake her out of her self-pity, so that she would _see_ who is in front of her.

She does nothing, only nods at the girl and gives her a half-smile, just to assure her that she accepts her choice.

And then Darwin agrees to go with Shaw, which is utterly alarming. But then Susan sees the glance Darwin sent Alex, but she is too late to intertwine, to stop Alex from sending his deadly lasers and to stop Shaw from grabbing Darwin by his throat.

Susan only hears Lucy's cry, and the beast inside snaps her out of stupor.

Lucy only feels a rush of ice and sees Shaw getting flung into the wall. Susan's eyes are blazing fire and she gazes on Shaw who can't even move, because there are invisible hands holding him down. Shaw stares at the girl not one bit unfazed. He cannot move, true. But the girl, it seems, cannot move, too. Her hold on her own power is weak. When she would exhaust herself, he would…

_Bampf_… and nothing.

_Bampf_ and they were gone.

Susan breathed in and closed her eyes. It was harder than she expected. Shaw was strong. Stronger than she is. And the only way she won was the surprise effect on her part.

She is shaking, breathing deep, because it took too much self-control to push the right person and not everyone in the room. Power of absolute destruction is much easier to control, she thinks and leans into the wall.

Her head is throbbing and she wants to wrench it from her shoulders and football it somewhere far, far away.

"Susan?"

It is that girl. What was her name? Something Marta? Moira? Rodgers?

"Yeah?" she looks at the blonde and does not see half of the room. Stupid nobleness, the next time someone would try to save someone else, she would not lift a finger to save either. She may re-think her statement about her being no idiot. Stupid.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I've just returned from a monthly trip to Disneyland. What do you think?" she hisses and then grabs her head, because it _hurts_. "Does anyone have aspirin?"

When Erik and Charles arrive at the facility, all they see is ruins, smoke, a lot of cars and running people. And then they notice Susan standing beside her sister, Alex talking to Darwin. Sean is solemn, and Hank is whispering something to Raven.

"What happened?" asked Erik, striding up to them.

"Shaw's planning World War Three between Russia and America with nukes, and he wants to be a President."

"How do you know this?" Charles looks at the elder Pevensie girl questioningly.

"He visited us." It is Raven, who answers. "Taken Angel."

"Hostage?"

"Well, not taken. She went willingly," Raven's voice is laced with disappointment and it seems, for a second, that the is disgusted by Angel's choice.

"We shouldn't blame her," interrupts Susan, looking at the blonde girl with motherly gentleness. "It was her choice. And we should accept it."

"It is always about logic to you, isn't it?" screams Lucy, jumping up from her bench. "You have no heart! No heart! There is nothing inside you."

"Please, dear, don't start a scene," Susan smiles at the younger girl brightly, yet her eyes are frozen and dead.

"And where will we go now?" asked Raven.

"In the morning you all are going to head home."

"No," says Sean, nodding at Alex. "He isn't going back to prison. And Hank's house is ruins."

Charles looks at the children and young adults in front of him and makes the decision that changes the history forever.


	4. Chapter Three: North Salem

**Chapter Three: _North Salem_**

It seems that every Professor had a similar house – big, majestic and full of old, dusty things. Susan finds it quite odd. Sure, Professor Xavier does not seem to be a slob most of the time, but to keep his house in such a state is unforgivable. So, the next Saturday morning finds her scrubbing the kitchen with frenzy and sneezing every time she cleans up a surface covered into too much filth (which is quite a lot).

When half of the kitchen is finally glistering as brightly as a diamond, Susan catches the distinctive 'squash', 'squash', 'squash' in the hallway. Her first instinct is to raise the hand and push those dirty boots out of the kitchen she is cleaning. Someone yelps. Oh, well, since when boots can walk on their own?

Sean and Hank are both sprawled on the floor and muttering something about lack of control. Look who is talking!

"I have been cleaning the kitchen since early morning and you won't come in with dirt on your shoes, do you understand?" she asks, leveling the two with a glare.

"Why would you be cleaning the kitchen, Susan?" Hank looks up at her and gives a shy sweet smile. Susan melts a little and lifts them from the floor, "Just take of your shoes and help me with breakfast".

\ | /

"Can you think of when this ability manifested? Was it a tragic experience or was it during puberty? How did it manifest? What was the result? Tell me what you felt when you used it"

Charles Xavier is sitting opposite Lucy, who is fidgeting nervously, playing with the hem of her pleated skirt, biting her nails and closely examining them afterwards.

"Lucy, if you are not comf-"

"No, Charles, I am fine. It's just that- No one really asked me any of these questions, no one knew, you see. And now there is a house full of people, who are just like me. And it is an amazing feeling. But I- I have never spoken about it, and I am a little bit agitated, I would say," Lucy shrugs and leans back into the armchair, crossing her legs at the ankles, and looks at the lock of the hair she has wrapped around her finger. "I was the only one in the family with golden hair. My older brother Peter was blond, Edmund had the same hair as Susan does. And no one else in the family could understand where the colour came from. It was the first call, I guess."

Charles writes something short into his planner and Lucy stretches her neck to see what it is, "What is that?"

"Some notes for my studies."

"Oh. Well, when I first healed someone, I was twelve. Peter fell down from the tree and had a large gash on the forehead, and I healed it with a simple touch and a thought that his forehead should not be covered in blood. And I had this warmth, spreading through me, consuming me. At that moment I felt light and whole, ageless. It felt like being born. One of my happiest memories."

"Is it always like this?"

"The warmth, yes. But every time I heal someone, I can feel an invisible hand reaching deep down into me and taking a tiny part of whatever was born that summer day and giving it away. Lately I've been thinking about what will happen when it expires. Will I lose the ability, will I die or will the new light appear?"

"Mutation does not work like that, Lucy. You only imagine it that way, that you take a part of yourself, because you are a generous selfless girl and you want to give yourself to people, to help them, to cure them. And your mind reacts appropriately. I wonder if it is a side-effect of your mutation or if it is a part of it. Besides, mutation does not expire, it is a gene in your body, a couple of mutated DNA cells, they cannot kill you, because they were created by evolution to move us forward, to make us the first to experience the potential that exists in a human body."

"And what if my DNA cells will become infected by some illness?"

"I cannot say what can happen with a mutant, but I know that you will manage to heal yourself and then the rest of us, too."

Lucy grins and looks at the ceiling. It is a good idea.

\ | /

She loves the Xavier mansion, the spacious green lawns around it, and sparse touches of wild nature, for instance, a patch of grass in the middle of the walkway or an apple tree growing right in the middle of the flowerbed. She loves the solitude of the countryside, far away from New York and its always running, talking, eating, working, partying, drinking citizens, who only confuse her.

This house reminds her of _home_, of England with its green parks and serene people, who are familiar, whose behavior won't leave Lucy dumbfounded.

It reminds her a lot of Uncle Kirke's Finchley mansion, where her family and she spent their summer holidays all those years ago. That was a house with history: where Lucy first discovered her ability, where Edmund first apologized to Peter for being rude, where Peter first protected them from the adults by taking all the blame, where Susan first shared a secret with Lucy, where they first discovered Narnia, the magical land of talking creatures. This house isn't the same, doesn't have the same memories that Lucy does, but memories are volatile, fleeting. _'But,' _she thinks, looking at the other mutants in the room,_ 'I can make new ones'_.

And so it begins.

\ | /

Susan is lounging in the armchair. She is sitting on her legs; her head is pillowed on her hands, which are draped over the arm of the chair. And she reminds Charles of a big black cat, which projects only laziness and calmness all over the place for you to relax and let your guard down, and when this happens, this cat will pounce on you and either rip your throat open or turn into a giant black snake and squeeze the life out of you.

And Charles is not sure he prefers any of those over living a happy long life, so his questions must be most considerate and he should probably not fidget like an impatient five year old birthday boy who cannot wait to be given his presents.

"Ask away, Professor Xavier. I can _hear_ you thinking."

"Okay. Will you tell me about yourself, your ability?"

"I'm not good at telling anything except polite chit-chat about weather, baseball and latest fashion gossip. But you can ask me questions and I can choose to answer them."

"Doesn't it fall under interrogation?"

"If so, you are a good cop. C'mon, stop stalling."

"Alright, alright. What was the first time you used your ability?"

"I was about five, still in pre-school."

"That's quite young, I myself started to detect thoughts of others only at seven!"

"You cannot exactly control your power, can you? It appears when the opportunity presents itself. I believe that Hank was born that way, and I doubt that Raven suddenly became blue one beautiful spring morning."

"Yeah, you cannot truly control your mutant gene. Sometimes it presents us with quite a few problems, doesn't it? But moving on, what was the reason for your- let's call it debut?"

"When I was a kid, I was chubby, I had freckles and a bush on my head. And children are pretty mean, you know? One day a girl tugged on my hair, and I was so mad that all her hair fell out."

Charles snorts, "What a sight must have been. How did everyone react?"

"Not pretty."

"I can imagine," Charles smiles and looks down at his planner, "What did it feel like to use your gift for the first time?"

"Cannot really say. Maybe I was quite young to remember everything, but mostly I felt nothing, it was like- breathing, I guess. It came naturally," the young woman sits up straighter and stretches her back. "And what it was like for you?"

"I was afraid. At first I thought I was going mad, because all those voices were talking at me and they were so loud. I felt disoriented, and wanted to vomit. Mother had to throw her shoes out. A few days later, when the voices became only a buzz in the back of my mind, it was… groovy. I mean I now could cheat in class and not be caught. Any child would be happy to have such an awesome ability."

"I thought better of you, Professor!" Susan giggles and rolls her eyes, "Next question?"

"Sure. What is your ability? From what I've seen it's certainly destructive and you have telepathy- Do you know the extent of your gift?"

"It is raw destructive power which I bend whatever way I please, but cannot fully control. It's like breathing, you can control it only for a few minutes, but then you either lose conscious or you forget about it altogether and go on. And I am very good at going on."


	5. Chapter Four: Where the Wind Blows

**Chapter Four: ****_Where the Wind Blows_**

It is 3.06 a.m. when Lucy jolts awake. Disorientated and half-coherent, she blinks, trying to adjust to the dark, but the curtains are drawn together so closely that not even one tiny ray of moonlight can penetrate the absolute darkness of the room.

She yawns and pulls the covers over herself, trying to fall back asleep before the unpleasant thoughts will creep inside her head and will make her doubt herself, doubt Narnia, doubt Aslan. And she cannot allow herself that, she cannot betray her family like that, not when they are all dead and cannot pull her through the moment of such weakness, when they cannot put their arms around her and whisper a gentle lullaby to lull her back to sleep. Because they left her, because Aslan took them away and left her to rot here and be consumed by the grey crowds that want nothing else but to enslave and turn you into one of them, mindless and ordinary, one of many-

Oh, there she goes. Already. So weak in her faith when she stands alone against all the heavy and grave stones that this world throws at her, waiting for the moment of her fall. And yet, she will be a fool to allow herself to succumb to her desires, the darkest of her thoughts. She is Lucy the Valiant, and if someone thinks that she will go down without a fight, abandon everything dear to her without fighting tooth and nail for the right to be her own person, then they are the biggest fools in the history of all fools.

Aslan told her to hold on, to always be a Queen, and how can she forget something like that? _Once a King or a Queen, always a King or a Queen._ Lucy closes her eyes and whispers it like a prayer to whatever God will hear her, but first, of course, to the God who has kind eyes and a soft gold mane.

Her lips are still moving when the clock strikes six in the morning and the yellow cuckoo chimes six times. _Time to get up, Lucy Pevensie,_ she hears the bird sing and opens her eyes. In England it is already eleven a.m.

The halls are silent when she walks through them, only light snoring from Sean's room breaks the quiet.

Susan's door is ajar, but it is enough to see her sitting in front of the vanity, applying make-up. Her movements are almost ceremonial, allowing you to see the lingering brushes long after they have been put down. But while the movements are drawn-out, they are also measured, precise, mechanical. She picks up a compact and, like an artist, who captures only beauty on his canvas, hides the remaining traces of many sleepless nights. And with the help of a lip brush she paints blood on her lips so painstakingly sharp and careful as not to violate this private, esoteric ritual that belongs only to her.

Those luscious lips smile in the mirror and Lucy witnesses something she has never seen before: a birth. Lucy just observed the birth of a supernova, of a mirage, of the Dream Woman everyone wishes for. She sees a mask, a perfectly sculptured mask that fits Susan like second skin, like tragedy, like an evening gown, like a bow, like Daisy's dresses and Daisy's fate, like camera flash lights, like men, like the name Gloria, like the night, like tears, like a crown, like beauty. Like a curse Susan damned herself with, like a cult which she follows religiously and without mercy for either herself or those around her. A mask she takes off before bed and dons on with every sunrise.

"Lucy?" She hears the soft voice calling for her. "Why are you out of bed?"

It is Susan, sitting half-turned to the door, waiting for Lucy to come in.

"Oh, Lucy! I will not bite, come in!"

And Lucy does, she throws caution to the wind and enters the room, the python's den.

"I couldn't sleep tonight."

"Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?" Susan stands up from her vanity and goes straight for Lucy, embracing her in a hug. And for a second Lucy can feel safe and loved, content. She borrows her head into Susan's half-done perfect locks and squeezes the older girl tighter.

"Don't cry, Lucy," a hand hesitantly touches Lucy's head, but as soon as the elegant long fingers are upon Lucy's hair, they start to gently comb it and it feels as if she's back in Mother's arms, not London's mom, but the Mother of Narnia, the High Queen, the Gentle Sister. And only for a second does Lucy allow herself to bath in the illusion, only for a short, non-existent second, a flutter of eyelids, a heartbeat, a breath. "You are such a strong girl. Do not give up. Not like this, Lucy. If you give up now, in front of me, I will win. And I cannot win."

Lucy huffs into Susan's neck and tries to crush the treacherous sob that threatens to escape her throat by asking this Susan-in-making, familiar and puzzling, a question, before the woman's eyes will become so cold that even one simple glance will turn you into stone, "Why are you doing it? Why did you create this Susan?"

The younger girl feels her sister smile into her hair and imagines it to be a knowing smile with a touch of sisterly affectionate condescension, a smile Susan had when she used to be a friend of Narnia. It is long gone, Lucy knows that like she knows the sky to be blue and the sun to be a star, and yet she has never denied herself anything. She can pretend for a moment.

"This Susan is power, raw and potent. My strength is not in beauty, which, like a fine accessory, is important, but not necessary required. And neither is it a beautiful dress, which tomorrow will be even more wonderful. It is my mind, how I play myself. Men see beauty, yes, but when they realize that I read the Times, that I am familiar with Dale Carnegie's books and that I am in love with Fitzgerald's prose, they begin to listen to me, they begin to _hear_ me. And what else can a woman want more than power over men? I've never wanted to be put on a pedestal. But now no one can hurt me. Now I am untouchable, invincible. This is the best feeling I've had in a long time, Lucy. And no one is allowed to take it from me, not now, not ever."

Susan kisses Lucy's cheek and turns back to her mirror. And Lucy stays, watching Susan turn herself into someone else with hair as dark as hers, with eyes coloured icy blue, with skin so pale that you begin to wonder how the woman is still alive, with a haughty look in her eyes, and with a regal poise that is all wrong. And Lucy wants to throw the windows open, to breathe the fresh morning air which will chase the nightmare away. And afterwards she wants to laugh so hard until there will be tears streaming down her cheeks and she will be choking down on her own helplessness, and still powerless to correct Susan's mistakes, to cure her and bring her back.

Lucy is well and truly the only remaining Pevensie now. Somehow it hurts less than she thought it would.

\|/

"You smell of smoke, Charles," is the first thing out of Lucy's mouth when the man comes up to her, smiling widely, almost childlike in his glee.

"Alex was practicing in the danger room. And while it is still far from ideal, at least he stopped being afraid of his own power. A small blessing, but one nonetheless."

"And how are the others?"

"Raven and Moira are in the gym, Hank is tinkering with his new invention in the lab, I saw Sean and Susan in the kitchen and Erik is pouring over the maps, maybe trying to locate the whereabouts of Shaw. And what are you doing?"

"Nothing, just trying to apply my ability to plants. So far a couple of overgrown flowers and a tree which suddenly grew plum."

"Groovy. You can grow anything you want wherever you want!"

"Well, with the right knowledge. I just don't know much about plants or human body. Maybe if I know more about genetics and anatomy, I will be able to fully utilize the power given to me, maybe I would even be able to heal serious injuries of others."

"It doesn't hurt to try, does it?" responds Charles and gives Lucy his hand, the other going to his temple.

\|/

"Here, take this," Susan hands Sean a bag of ice and then turns back to chopping cucumbers for salad.

"I thought you were a model," perks up Sean, sitting onto the counter opposite the young woman, "but you are a total chef."

"Not really," Susan grins at Sean, "I just took some classes to get a hang of fine cooking and I fell in love with the process. It's relaxing, and you can't always depend on takeout, you know."

"My skills are limited to sandwiches and half-burned cookies. Do you need any help?"

"I'll manage, besides, your face needs all the ice you can find."

"Who even thought that I can fly? Those born to walk, cannot fly!"

"Stop being dramatic, Sean. And hand me the bread."

The boy rolls his eyes, but picks up a loaf of black bread. But when Susan holds out her hand, Sean hides the loaf behind his back and cheekily asks the young woman, "How come I've never seen you use your power?"

"Sean," Susan's lips are pressed in a thin line, "stop fooling around!"

"It cannot be that bad, can it?"

"It's dangerous, I lose control of the situation and everything goes to hell pretty soon. Bread, Sean!"

"Here, here! No need to get so antsy with me!"

"You're such a child, Sean Cassidy! Get over here and help me with sandwiches."

"There are child labor laws, you slave driver!"

"You're not a child."

"Mentally I am. No, wait! That was a bad idea."

Susan snorts unladylike, "What was the first time you used your power?"

"Nothing special. My cousin tried to scare me by jumping on me and instead got blasted through the window. Our parents returned to smashed windows, destroyed TV and a broken arm. And you?"

"I was sixteen. A man tried to attack me, but I- he turned into ice. I screamed, kicking him away. And you're a smart boy to figure out what happens to glass when it collides with something, aren't you?"

"Were you afraid?"

"Of course I was. What silly questions you sometimes ask, Sean!"

"Does someone know about that?"

"My little brother knew about it, but he's dead now."

"And how did he take it?"

"He made me tea, lectured me about what is right and what is wrong. And said that he was glad that I was still with him."

"Nice brother."

"He was not nice. He was amazing."


	6. Chapter Five: No Church in the Wild

**Chapter Five: **_**No Church in the Wild**_

Sean is often underestimated. People look at him and see wild ginger hair, red-rimmed eyes and a skinny figure, and all they think is, '_he is a druggie_'. Some look at him and shake their heads in confusion, '_such potential there, but all he is good at is being a bad clown_'. Some do not spare him even a fleeting glance. It never hurts him, not like it should. Because Sean closes his eyelids tighter and dreams of kinsmen, blue and red, with tales and horns, with wings and fur. He lets himself dream the perfect world, which never clashes with reality and which he yearns to live in someday.

Maybe that is the reason why he stands up for Alex. Maybe that is why he squares his shoulders, when Eric and Charles look at all of them, a half-formed idea shining brightly in their eyes and grim doubt set in the corners of their lips. Maybe that is why, when Raven steals his honey, he only squints at her, imagining all kinds of slow torture he could put her through before Professor discovers Sean's hideout. Maybe that is why, when he is pushed out of the window, he doesn't throw a hissy fit, cracking a few jaws in process. Maybe that is the reason why Sean pays attention and tries so hard to follow Professor's instructions.

Sean loves asking '_why_', okay? When he used to be a kid, Sean would go to his Mommy, tug on her skirt 'till she looked down upon him, and then would proceed to babble _whywhywhy_ until there was no more breath in his lungs. And his mother, who smelled of baked goods, her beloved gloxinias and of something wistful, fleeting, like a butterfly touch on your cheek or a sunbeam on your pillow, his mother would laugh ever so gentle and whisper to him the stories of how the sun and the moon were born, how rivers came to be, how brave the first sprouts were.

When he used to be a kid, Sean didn't have a lot of friends, even before the Incident. He was an oddball, who had a habit of pickpocketing wallets from his numerous uncles and aunts, grandparents and cousins, and then buying cotton candy all for himself. Maybe that is why his cousins disliked him, because Sean didn't like sharing. Or maybe because he was an expert in hide-and-seek and other children just couldn't find him.

But now there are people, who he can imagine himself becoming friends with.

There is Lucy, sweet, caring, gentle Lucy, a girl with the extraordinary gift to ease one's soul and to bring a smile to one's face. There is Alex, who is grumpy and who constantly pulls everyone's pigtails, but also tells you the goddamn truth, even if it bleeds afterwards, and maybe Sean wants to punch Alex in the guts sometimes, but he respects the older boy for never sugarcoating the harsh reality. And if Alex is in the room, you most certainly will spot Armando in close vicinity. Armando is an oddball, too, just like Sean, but he adapts, and changes, and never stops evolving, and Sean envies him that. And he also envies Raven, beautiful and lively Raven, who is not afraid to shamelessly elbow her way into your life and bounce up to you whenever she needs someone to gossip with. And how could he have forgotten Hank! Shy and modest, Hank stutters in the company of girls, doesn't know what to say to Alex's jabs, and is clumsy as a penguin, but if you look past all of the blushing and stuttering, you will see a brilliant person who is so much stronger than he is given credit for.

All those wonderful people are his friends, his first real mutant friends.

And the spacious grand mansion is a shelter, a safe haven, _home_.

\|/

Alex loves the house they are staying in. It is not home, not exactly. Home, in Alex's perception, is a place you grew up in, a place which has your family. But the thing is, his family don't even know if he is alive or dead, and he grew up in a jail. So, he doesn't really have a lot of experience in all things home.

It is just past seven a.m. when Alex walks into the kitchen, only to find Susan putting away a newspaper with an irritated huff.

"Good morning, Susan," he greets her, going for the coffee pot.

"Morning, Alex," she gives a quick little smile and returns to her tea.

"What's in the papers?"

"Nothing," she rolls her eyes and crunches her nose in distaste, as if whatever is printed there offends her, "just a load of utter rubbish."

Alex shrugs, "Are you in today?"

"Sure, that's what we're here for, no?"

"Yeah, but I've never seen you use your powers, not once."

"Sometimes it's better to stay in the shadows, rather than be the show, Alex."

"Lucy told us that you can say creepy things, but why you, adults, can't be straightforward? Do you all follow some code from the book you get on your twenty first birthday, where it's said to be as cryptic as possible?"

"Stop it. You're ranting. I'm being generous, trying to give you the word of wisdom and letting you figure it out yourself. But if you believe yourself dense, then I can be straightforward. You just have to say a word."

"You're a horrible, horrible woman, Ms. Pevensie!"

Susan laughs at the smirking man and takes a sip from her mug, "And you, young sir, are a flatterer."

\|/

Hank enjoys tinkering in the lab, but it is hard to reject the allure of observing other mutants' training. It is exciting and new, with endless possibilities so close that he can stretch out his hand towards them and feel the flutter of the delicate silk wings.

That is why he stands close to Charles, a few feet away from Susan. The woman has her eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration.

"What is she thinking?" Hank is a scientist and morals are loose for men of science, when they thirst to _know_. And Charles, despite all the veneer of nobleness and ethic, is a scientist at heart, too.

"Of arms and warmth," Charles's answer is vague, but the way he says those words, tender and wistful, makes them tangible, heavy with half-tones of the feeling of belonging and simple human _love_.

Suddenly the earth trembles. The groans and screeches fill the air, as if something is being mercilessly ripped straight from the bowels of the earth. The air itself suddenly becomes hot and thick, making it difficult to breathe. And then the ground shatters and an unimaginable amount of tiny, barely visible cracks appear, allowing tiny green sprouts grow out of the soil. Sprouts turn into daffodils and lilies, grow into hydrangea and honeysuckle bushes, flourish to gracile cypresses and rich cherry blossoms. Grass itself becomes greener, newer, almost like the lawns shown in various ads. But the whole spectacle, the change in the weather (There is almost a mild fresh wind blowing in their faces, the air around them growing humid, there is most certainly a downpour coming), the exquisite beauty of the newly materialized flora, the huge eyes, bright green with bits of gold that are starring at the picturesque scenery, it is all too much, and Hank whispers, "Impossible".

It is a wrong thing to say, it turns out.

If you asked him later about what had happened, Hank wouldn't be able to tell you anything but, "The Atlas shrugged and tore his mask away, leaving only the essence of what he is".

He doesn't remember much before the blackout, but he without doubt saw Susan tearing at her hair, her mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Her pretty face marred by the animalistic rage and muddy cracks in her marble skin. And then the feeling of flying and the dark.

\|/

When Sean flies into one of the many bathrooms in Xavier's mansion, he expects it to be empty as many other rooms he has searched for her in. And he is almost out of the door, before he sees dirty footsteps on the white floor and stops.

She is sitting in the bath, curled into a naked ball, her head is burrowed into the knees, and there are unmistakable sounds of broken heaving sobs. She is dirty and she is a trembling mess, and yet, Sean thinks, reaching for her, she has never looked more ethereal.

Her shoulder is bony, transparent and unresponsive neither to his hand nor to the warm water on her back nor to the light towel fabric that he wraps her in. He tries to get her up, but she is a dead weight, a wadding doll in his arms.

But when he puts her under the covers, she digs her nails in his arm, drawing blood, and whispers in a voice full of beach sand, "Don't go". It is as much a command as a plea. And Sean, he stays and when her lips start murmuring, he leans in closer and listens to every word of her crumpled confession.

"I grew up in the 50's. I hated it, the music, the smell, the miserable faces. But most of all I hated women who chose to become hothouse flowers. I saw what men reduced them to, perfect little housewives good enough only to birth children and look after their husbands. And I swore that I would sooner jump off a building than become like them, like my own Mother. And when I showed interest in being me, this Susan you know, she told me only cheap whores pose for the camera, that no self-respecting man would want me. And I though, let it be, let me be cheap and a whore, but not nothing, anything but that.

"She threw me out. She took my home from me. And then all of them just took and took and never gave even a scrap back. But every one of them wanted me, they got in line just to have my photo. And I thought, let them.

"But my brother, you know, he had never taken anything that I was not freely giving. And yet he gave me a world and made me a Queen. And I- I left him," her cheek is warm and damp when she puts it on Sean's stomach and then she breathes in and smiles ever so slightly, "You smell of apples".

"Are you hungry, Suz? Do you-"

"Just stay. Don't go."

And Sean doesn't even want to leave.

\|/

Lucy surveys the scorched grounds, the charred trees, the blackened marble of the stairs, the white ashes that cover the earth like snow. Lucy sees miserable despair, but feels only anger and hate. Yet again Susan has ruined something that Lucy adored, found joy in, _loved_.

There is something dark splashing in her subconsciousness, something bitter and lonely, waiting to be used, to be explored, to be one. And the girl knows that she must be fighting her instincts, that she must squash them even before the idea forms in her head, but the sense of the loss embraces her, sips into her bones and doesn't leave her.

She wants what is rightfully hers _back_. And she _will_ get it. Have no doubt about it.

Lucy goes on her knees, puts her hands into the ashes and wishes for retribution and recovery. Wishes the last hours gone, destroyed in the wheel of time, annihilated from memory of the earth.

And if the light in her soul flickers, no one will know.

* * *

><p><strong>AN:<strong> When reading the Sean/Susan part, I advise you to listen to _Shoot your gun_ by **20-20s**.


End file.
